


Just An Experiment

by ReaperRain



Series: Just a Series [4]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Slash, Sounding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-17
Updated: 2011-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-23 19:50:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/254209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReaperRain/pseuds/ReaperRain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Original DA K!Meme prompt: "There are some amazing sounding fills here on the k!meme, but I've yet to see my favorite apostate being on the receiving end." Hawke decides to try sounding on his favourite possessed apostate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just An Experiment

**JUST AN EXPERIMENT**

-

Falling in love with Ciardha Hawke was overall a very, very bad idea.

Anders knew Ciardha. Well, no – no-one knew Ciardha, not really – but he knew his type. He'd _been_ that type for a good portion of his life; the type who sought personal gratification above all else, who carelessly flirted with anyone and anything regardless of the consequences. The type who could not rightly be called a lover, only a _lust_ er, hopping from one bed to another before the sheets were cooled. He could count on one hand the number of people Hawke had displayed any kind of genuine affection and compassion towards, and Anders was sure he wasn't one of them.

So he knew that handing his heart over to Hawke would only result in it being cheerfully broken and handed back. But...

But Anders was a cat person, meaning he instinctively liked arrogant, selfish bastards who worked extraordinarily hard at being as lazy as possible. Ciardha was undeniably feline, graceful and predatory and self-satisfied, because he _knew_ how captivating he was. When his eye caught yours you found yourself unable to look away, and when he spoke you couldn't help but listen. Even if you were a sceptical mage who knew promiscuity when he saw it and therefore did _not_ need Justice bringing it up every time his thoughts lingered on Hawke, thank you very much. _No harm in wishful thinking,_ Anders kept telling himself, except that Hawke uncannily knew when he was being daydreamed about and used it to his advantage. Despite a now rather widespread sordid reputation, he always managed to charm his way into people's bedrooms... or the nearest available place, e.g. lounges, kitchens, gardens or in this particular case, Darktown clinics.

 _He is using you._ Their thoughts were so merged these days, he only ever heard Justice as a separate voice when they strongly disagreed on something. A low, disapproving rumble, like thunder before a storm, rage suppressed for now but always simmering, always waiting to be unleashed.

 _I know._ Of course Hawke didn't love him, he didn't love _anyone._ On the plus side he didn't truly hate anyone either, even abominations with dangerous head-tenants. He wasn't particularly invested in helping the plight of mages, but he treated Anders with the casual, nonchalant, _unafraid_ acceptance he'd always wanted, and so Anders found himself coveting the man's company. There was still that eternally, foolishly optimistic part of him that thought that maybe, maybe if he let Hawke do whatever he wished with him – currently kissing him with plenty of tongue – he would keep coming back, and then one day he would stay for good.

 _He will not,_ Justice reminded him. His tone was not cynical, but bore nothing but absolute certainty, because he knew he was right. And Maker help him, Anders knew he was right too, but he just couldn't bring himself to say no. 

Not that he actually remembered saying yes, as such – Hawke had just strolled into his clinic as he was closing for the night, pushed him against a wall and started kissing him. Even if he'd wanted to protest he couldn't, because Hawke wasn't leaving him room to _breathe_ between kisses, let alone speak, but protests were the last thing on his mind right now. On cue, Hawke pulled back and regarded him thoughtfully, as if only now contemplating his actions. At this proximity, he could see that Ciardha's eyes were not merely very dark in colour but actually black, like twin voids. He couldn't even make out the pupils. 

He half-imagined them to be slitted.

“Is this too fast?” Ciardha asked at last.

Anders suppressed his laugh, because he suspected it would come out slightly hysterical. “Tackle-snogging someone unawares might be considered rushed, yes,” he answered, “What brought this on?”

“Because you're a gorgeous, irresistibly sexy man and the lack of suitors at your door borders on criminal,” Ciardha stroked his hair fondly, and Anders was immediately reminded of the great affection Pounce used to display whenever he wanted something. “...That and I'd like to try a few things.”

Of course. “ _Things?_ Don’t you usually go to Isabela for that?”

“Well I need a man. Varric is monogamous to his crossbow, Fenris could and probably _would_ put a hole in my chest, and Sebastian always finds a way to excuse himself when I get him on his own.”

So he was the last resort, basically. He crossed his arms, trying to ignore the sting of it and batting down a stirring Justice, who couldn't tell the difference between physical and emotional pain. “Perhaps you should hire Jethann out instead?” he suggested, tone icier than intended.

“I suspect he's had it done to him before, and anyway he's paid to put on a show even if he doesn't like something. I need honesty.” Apparently Anders' blackened mood wasn't as well-concealed as he thought because Ciardha next said: “Oh don’t look so sour. I did choose you for a reason you know, if I wanted just _anyone_ I would've persuaded a random man,”

“You haven't persuaded me to do anything yet. You haven't even told me what you want to _do._ ”

“In due time. For now let's work on that persuasion thing, hm?” before he could protest, Ciardha closed in and captured his lips again. For a brief moment, spurred by his indignation, he brought his hands up to Hawke's shoulders to push him away. But then Hawke leaned further in, sliding one knee up between Anders' legs so the firm warmth of his thigh pressed against the mage's crotch. A startled moan escaped him, hands curling _around_ the shoulders instead as his body instinctively sought further contact. He felt Hawke smile against his mouth.

Insufferable bastard he might have been, but Anders couldn't deny that Ciardha was a skilled lover. Whether it was a case of natural talent or practise makes perfect – and everyone knew how much practise Ciardha got – he couldn't say. He _could_ say that Ciardha's mouth was now doing all kinds of wonderful things to his throat, kissing and suckling and sure to leave a mark later on that the others would pester him about, but _oh_ he didn't care. Dexterous hands were slowly, seductively pulling loose the many ties of his coat, then slipping it back over his shoulders, revealing the tattered white tunic beneath. The material bunched and gathered as Hawke ran one hand up Anders' side, lifting it enough to expose his trousers, which were doing a remarkably bad job at hiding his arousal.

The rogue raised a brow, smirk playing across his lips. “Hard already? How long has it been?”

“Too long,” he shivered when those fingers grazed over his bulge.

“Are you nervous?”

“No,” he lied, but Hawke had a keen sense for untruths, and his expression said as much. “...A little,” Anders admitted, feeling foolish.

Ciardha's expression was not mocking, but pleased. “Just the way I like it,” he purred, leaning in for another kiss.

With the same tactics used in battle and in conversation, Ciardha kept him distracted while working on his ulterior motive; he didn't even realise his trousers had been unfastened until he felt cool air against his hardness. A single finger crooked along the underside of his shaft, stroking over and over while the other hand teased a nipple through the cloth of his tunic. Anders reached for him, eager to give pleasure as much as receive it, but his hand was swatted away. “Later,” he was admonished.

“But-” the words left him as Ciardha sank to his knees, taking cock in hand. He had an idea as to where this was going, but... among the many, many rumours circulating as to what the Champion was like in bed, giving great head wasn't one of them. Not that he gave _bad_ head – as far as Anders had heard, Ciardha didn't give head at all. He partook often enough, but only when he was on the receiving end. “You _give_ blowjobs?” he said incredulously.

“Not often,” Hawke confirmed, glancing up at him. His smile had a secretive edge to it, “Only for dangerously handsome mages.”

His tongue lashed out, first quick-paced, then swirling leisurely around the entire circumference of the head. Anders' world wavered, he leaned back heavily against the wall to keep from swaying on the spot. His hands curled and uncurled unsurely; he dearly wanted to thread them through Hawke's glossy black hair, but when he tried to stroke it he was given a tap on the wrist and a pointed look.

Ciardha kept his eyes – those dark, unfathomable eyes – trained on him the entire time, and no matter how tempted he was to bask, Anders didn't, _couldn't_ look away. He hardly dared to blink in case he suddenly found himself in his cot, woken from yet another dream with nothing but his frustrations and sticky sheets. Hawke had flirted with him plenty, even kissed him before, but doing this...?

 _Do not mistake this for genuine affection,_ came the baritone warning of his head-tenant. Quieter than it had been earlier, as though Justice was moving to another room to get away from the noise.

Of course this was just sex, he knew that. It would always be just sex with Ciardha, no matter how much Anders wished otherwise. And maybe it was unhealthy, entertaining fantasies and false affections from someone who probably wasn't even capable of love, but frankly he would take what he could get. He was tired, he was stressed, he was lonely... and Hawke, who had just wrapped his lips around the head of his cock with an exquisitely obscene noise, felt so very, very good.

Hawke was about half-way down his length, and seemingly reluctant to go down any further. One hand pinned Anders' hips to the wall, preventing any thrusting, the other stroked along the base of the cock. The mage knew he was a little larger than average; he'd always been ridiculously smug about it back when such things were important to him, and carefully neglected to mention that _all_ Anderfellians tended towards generous proportions. But he wasn't huge by any means, so Ciardha's cautiousness struck him as... odd. Particularly from someone who was the polar opposite of a hesitant virgin.

He didn't have much time to dwell on it, however. Ciardha, mid-suck, suddenly pulled back and said, in the nonchalant tone used to discuss the weather: “So about that thing I wanted to try...”

Anders gawked at him, “You want to chat _now?_ ”

“You're sufficiently persuaded, no?”

The hands clamped forcefully around his hips told him he wouldn't be getting any more stimulation without indulging Hawke first. “ _Fine,_ ” he sighed, more than a little irritable, “What did you have in mind?”

A pleased grin, “Take off those trousers and sit on one of the cots, you'll need to be comfortable.”

Reluctant but too curious to refuse, he wandered over to one of the beds usually reserved for patients. He stripped out of his boots, trousers and smalls, leaving only the white tunic, arranged to allow his hardness to jut forth – he presumed he would need it for... whatever was planned. Hawke hadn't actually _told_ him yet, instead taking a simple black box from his backpack, calm expression betraying nothing. Given the man's tendency to trick people into giving him money or priceless information, Anders wanted to clarify precisely what he was agreeing to.

“Haw- what is that?” From the box, Hawke drew out a thin, smooth metal rod of some kind, ever so slightly curved, and bent at one end. It looked like a surgical instrument, although not one Anders had come across before.

“It's called a sounding rod,” Hawke declared rather proudly, though he gave no further explanation, simply tucking the box into his belt for safekeeping. “Do you have any kind of sterilising solution lying about?”

“Cabinet on the left, second shelf down. It's labelled,” Anders answered, still eyeing the thing with wary trepidation. The term 'sounding' was vaguely familiar, like something he had read in a book long ago, though for the life of him he couldn't remember what it meant. It had a sexual use obviously, but what _was_ it?

“Hawke...” he said slowly as the man grabbed the solution and a clean cloth, wiping the instrument down. “You haven't told me what it's used for yet.”

“Well,” was the cheerful answer, “It's for putting inside your dick.”

While Anders had guessed that it must be some kind of probe, being probed _there_ was not what he had expected. He lost his erection rather quickly. “It's for what.”

Ciardha looked pleased, “You've not had it done before, then?”

“No, no-one's tried sticking a piece of metal in my dick before! Unless being kicked by templar boots counts.”

“Ssh, no saying the T-word when we're in the bedroom.”

“We're not in a bedroom.”

“Of course we are, the world is my boudoir. And there's no need to cover yourself like that, it's not nearly as frightening as it sounds.”

“You want to put a _piece of metal_ in my _dick._ ”

“I'm assured by partakers that it feels fantastic. I want to see the reaction first-hand.”

“But not enough to actually try it on yourself, just in case sticking a piece of metal down there somehow turns out to be dangerous. Is that all I am to you, just an experiment?”

“Of course not,” Ciardha soothed, walking back over to him. Once in range he stroked his free hand down Anders' face in a motion that could almost be called loving, his tone low and hypnotic: “You're a marvellous healer who works too hard and deserves to unwind a little. I'm told that sounding gives a release like no other, and I think you would benefit from that. All I need you to do is _consent._ ” The last word was a veritable purr, and the apostate couldn't suppress his shiver.

“I don't know...”

“I _will_ make it feel good,” he was promised solemnly. “If you honestly don't like it, I'll stop.”

“...Al-alright,” he stammered at last, because it was really hard to concentrate when Hawke was leaning against him like that. “Just... be careful.”

“Of course.” A hand on his shoulder guided him sit, then lay down on the bed. His legs were nudged apart, Hawke knelt between them, looming over him. There was a distinct worry over what was going to happen next, but... a hint of excitement too. Ciardha was nothing if not unpredictable.

After a generous amount of lubricant applied to both Anders and the sound itself, Ciardha firmly gripped the flaccid cock, holding it upright. The rod was held above, positioned with the bent head facing down, then carefully pressed into place. Anders squeezed his eyes shut, anticipating pain and almost certain tearing... but surprisingly felt nothing of the sort beyond a slight heat at his tip, not strong enough to be called a burn. He could _feel_ it inside him, the cool metal rapidly warming, but it wasn't – unpleasant. Just strange and foreign, like his first time with Karl. Then Ciardha relinquished his grip on the thing, almost letting go completely as it started to drop on its own.

There was a momentary panic that it would get caught on something internal, damage him, or even disappear inside him completely. Yet as soon as his muscles tensed the rod stopped in place, barely an inch in. Perhaps it should've been repulsive but in truth it fascinated him, both sexually and as a healer, medically.

“Not so bad now, was it?” one hand loosely supporting the rod to keep it steady, he lowered the cock slightly, and the sound dipped a few inches deeper.

“It's... different,” said Anders, distracted, watching the rogue navigate the sound this way and that so that it dipped further. He had assumed Hawke would have to force it in, but it was carried purely by its own weight, descending until the depth exceeded the length of his cock and it was, he realised, truly inside him. Suddenly the rounded curve at the inserted end brushed against something; a startled gasp escaped him, not of pain, but quite the opposite.

“What – what was that?”

“You tell me, I can't feel anything,” Ciardha gave him a self-satisfied smirk, “But I suspect it might be the amazing mystery sensation I've heard so much about,”

It was certainly a mystery, even more so to describe it: it felt as though his prostate was being manipulated, but in a way he'd never experienced before. The rod was twisted ever so slightly, the curve digging into that same spot, and Anders made a sound between a staggered breath and a groan. His entire body seized up, the rod shifting slightly in response, leading to another stifled yelp.

“Good?” Ciardha breathed. He was watching every reaction intently, though with his ink-black eyes, Anders couldn't tell if his pupils were widened with lust or narrowed with calculation.

“Y-yes, it's good.” _More_ than good. When Hawke pinched the sound and began to move it slowly in and out, each time scraping the sweet spot, his entire body shuddered with need. It was like – being fucked from the inside. Even as a healer with a good knowledge of anatomy, even as a lover who fancied himself adventurous, he'd never felt like this, or even _heard_ of this. 

He only wished that Hawke would thrust it in faster, harder, deeper. Even knowing that excessive motion in such a fragile area would do more harm than good, the slow pace bordered on agonising. He let out a deep groan, head falling against the pillow as dizziness overwhelmed him. It felt as though all his blood was rushing southwards, yet – Maker, was he still flaccid? How was that even possible? There was the momentary worry that he had suffered a dysfunction, until it occurred to him that the sound was preventing any erection.

This thing, then, it was about control. But, he mused before he could associate it with the T-word, it was about pleasure for the receiver as well. Hawke, after all, gained nothing from this, beyond the enjoyment of watching his handiwork. He'd always thought Ciardha too selfish for that.

“You're impossible to figure out, you know?” he said aloud, glancing down at the man they called Champion, “I don't suppose anyone knows the real you.”

Ciardha looked a him quizzically. “You think too much,” he murmured, dipping his head.

Anders opened his mouth to reply, which turned into a moan as he felt hot breath and warm lips on the base of his cock; combined with the sounding rod still pressed against him, the dual sensation was more than enough to distract him. When a tongue completely laved his sac, then darting underneath to the sensitive patch of skin no-one had touched in _so long,_ he lost all conscious thought, leaving only mindless pleasure. He virtually shrieked out the name _Hawke,_ no longer occupied on whether _Hawke_ and _Ciardha_ were really the same person.

“Much better,” he heard distantly, the words faint over the thudding of the heartbeat in his ears. He struggled to open his eyes, seeing Hawke's satisfied look, and then-

He took out one of his daggers.

He brought the dagger over to Anders.

And he lightly tapped the blade against the rod with the chime of metal on metal.

The entire thing _buzzed_ inside him with an intensity that felt like orgasm, even as he remained soft. It soaked through the rest of his body, from shaking legs and tensed abdomen muscles to the trembling tips of his fingers. A single, choked noise escaped him, sounding more like a sob than anything else.

After this he only dimly felt the sound being carefully removed, sliding out mostly of its own accord. No sooner had it come out and he was hard, hoarsely shouting out his climax after a few strokes from Ciardha, the release staining his tunic. It felt as though he'd already come, his swollen flesh over-sensitive, burning slightly at the tip. His mind helpfully supplied that he was _exhausted,_ and he slumped on the bed, barely able to move.

Ciardha placed the sounding rod and its black box to one side, crawled up Anders' body to straddle his stomach, and purred out a “Very, _very_ good,” before kissing him hard enough to bruise.

“Now...” he said, suddenly adapting a clipped, business-like tone, recognisably the same one that Anders used on his patients: “While you do need some rest, I'd also recommend urinating as soon as possible. Excess water or cranberry juice should do the trick.” He then slipped back into his signature sultry murmur, “And I should definitely visit you again for regular check-ups.”

“That so?” Anders answered, too drowsy to sound truly flirty, “Hopefully my recovery won't be too quick, then.”

When all was said and done, he left as swiftly as he had arrived, leaving Anders with a slightly damp tunic, the rest of his clothes scattered over the floor, and a returning Justice complaining about wasted time.

_He does not care about you._

“I know,” he replied, tired. He hadn't expected any cuddling – Ciardha didn't seem the type – but it would've been nice to have someone to share the post-coital glow with. The sex had been fantastic, but he couldn't deny the hint of disappointment.

_He does not care for the plight of mages._

“I _know,_ ” he sighed frustratedly, running one hand through his hair. Ciardha didn't really care for anything outside of his own pleasures. It was dangerous to get emotionally involved with people like that.

_Then why are you so fixated with him?_

“I don't know,” he answered truthfully. A gleam of metal caught his eye – the sounding rod had been left on the cot, still slick and shiny. Ciardha didn't forget things, so it was doubtlessly intentional... though what sort of message it was meant to leave, he didn't know. That he would come back for more sex, probably. And Anders would end up giving it to him, even if he promised himself otherwise.

_Why?_

He didn't even try to explain, the Fade spirit could never comprehend the more intricate tangles of mortal emotions, wants and needs. Sometimes, he envied Justice as much as he disliked him.


End file.
